


Waverly Earp: A Cinderella Story

by Negovanstein



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV), Wynonna Earp (TV) RPF, wayhaught - Fandom
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Lesbian Character, Multi, No Lesbians Die, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Negovanstein/pseuds/Negovanstein
Summary: She's been living in a shadow of a human her entire life. Finally, she sees the light in big, brown eyes and a red French braid. Just what happens when you tell an Earp no? Especially an Earp that's been kept down too long?
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Doc Holliday, Waverly Earp & Gus McCready, Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp & Willa Earp, Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Original Female Character(s), Waverly Earp/Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Wynonna Earp/Nicole Haught, WayHaught, Xavier Dolls & Waverly Earp
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

“Move your ass or take it back to the homestead, girl!”  
“Yes, Gus.” Waverly scrambled to maintain all the bags and boxes that had been thrust into her possession over the course of the morning.  
It was Purgatory’s monthly marketplace, and Gus could never miss the opportunity to find new sewing material and whatever else just so happened through the marketplace this time around. This time it was hats, jars of jams, and skirt material. Of course, she had to get her sisters a treat or two- or twelve. Wynonna locked her eyes on a shot glass and shiny pair of boots she just had to have before her bag count raised to four; while Willa need only glance at an item to decide it was hers for the taking. Waverly, however, got the privilege of carrying her family’s purchases. They would carry them, but Gus was always too old, Wynonna was too tired, and Willa would rather lick dirt off a horse’s tail side than do peasant work.  
Waverly tried not to complain though. She never complained. She made a promise to her uncle that she would keep their family together by any means, even if it meant becoming the Earp family servant. She could understand all the bags. Tonight, King Xavier and Queen Eliza were hosting a ball for their daughter, Nicole. All available suitors due to Princess Nicole’s transparency of choice. Gus and her sisters were going to spend the rest of the day getting prepped for the events. Wynonna only wanted to go for the food and copious amounts of alcohol. If she ended up being Princess Nicole’s type, why not get some royal sex out of it? A bed’s a bed, right? Willa had her words on the idea of marrying a woman and had no problem airing them out; though if marrying the Princess of Purgatory got her the riches she felt she so rightly deserved, then maybe it wasn’t so bad. That is why it was Gus who told Willa to shut it and just look pretty. One of the nicest things Waverly could say about her aunt is she wasn’t racist or a homophobe. She wished she could say more.  
Her favorite part about the marketplace was being able to walk through the village and view the sights, smell the breads, not hear her aunt and sisters screaming for her the further she walks. Knowing they weren’t in reach gave her so much confidence. There was no one to make her sew a button, brush their hair (or their teeth), or stand in their bedroom constantly replenishing their bottle of brandy. Here nobody really knew who she was aside from her family’s housemaid. There was pity for her in the village, but also a lot of respect and kindness. Purgatory wasn’t much of a hell when she got to enjoy it alone. That was also the problem, she was alone. People treated her well, but she had no one to turn to. Wynonna was the nicest of her family, which said something; though Waverly couldn’t possibly rely on Wynonna when she was constantly at the bottom of the bottle. Shorty had a business to run and his own son to raise. All she had was herself.  
The sweetest sounds she’ll ever hear are still inside her head. The kindest words she’ll ever know are waiting to be said. The most entrancing sight of all is yet for her to see. Everything she ever had, everything she’s ever been, was no thanks to much of anyone but herself. Her own thoughts, her own encouragements, that’s why she’s nothing like her family. That’s what people see.  
Her body jolted and the boxes she’d been carrying tumbled to the ground. All she could register as she regained her balance was a red French braid and someone apologizing profusely, and the trotting of horses.  
“I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you.” A pair of hands were hurriedly picking her family’s packages off the ground. “Just like those royals, isn’t it? Always getting in somebody’s way.”  
She looked behind her to see the king and queen, Xavier and Eliza, riding back to their castle without looking back at the mess they’d left behind. Maybe they were looking for final supplies for the ball tonight. Still no excuse for nearly trampling a member of their kingdom.  
“I guess they’re headed somewhere very important.” She turned to thank the stranger for her help and had to swallow down her gasp. She was lovely. Big, brown eyes with no trace of fear, red hair tossed behind her shoulders into that French braid she’d seen moments ago, and that smile. Wow. Her teeth were perfect. Nothing like most of the townsfolk here.  
“You don’t get out much, do you?” The stranger chuckled, handing Waverly her items back.  
“No, I suppose I don’t.” She frowned, remembering why she was alone in the first place.  
Something about the way this woman carried herself, the way she stood so confidently in masculine wear without falter, made Waverly feel uncomfortable. She was not insecure in herself, but she was always torn down by Willa and no one was around to stop it. A lot of her confidence died a long time ago. But this girl, all dressed up in blue and slacks, expressed no lack of self-respect or a rise in insecurity. So polished. Regal even.  
“Well, thank you for your help…Good-bye.” Maybe it’s better that she go find her aunt and sisters. Family ad to be better than strangers.  
She didn’t expect the woman to be following her. “Wait! What’s your name?”  
She paused, not quite sure how to answer her, going with what she’s normally called.  
“Cinderella.”  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“Cinderella. I like to sit in front of the fire when the cinders fly, and my face gets smudged.” She smiled at her. It felt almost wrong, almost scandalous, to be smiling at her. Like she could get the Champ treatment for facial features. “M-my boyfriend would tease me all the time about it because my face was always dirty…”  
“So, there’s a lucky guy? That’s special in this town.”  
“There was. Champ was a boy-, um, man- “  
“A boy-man?” The stranger smirked at that. Why did that grin make her so nervous? Butterflies in her stomach. “Either way, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Cinderella. I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught.”  
“I actually-. Cinderella is my second name, not my first name. You see, my family chooses to call me that, so did Champ. I don’t enjoy it. I prefer they not use it at all.” She blurts out. She was so busy thinking about her many embarrassing moments over her middle name that she nearly missed her name.   
“How about you tell me what that is so I may…use it properly.” Again, that smile. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating.  
“Waverly. Waverly Cind-. Waverly Earp. A pleasure.” Her heart was swelling, making it hard to breathe. She needed to go before it decided to explode. “I really must be going.”  
“Well, wait!” Nicole followed along behind her, trying to catch up with her pace. “What’s a girl have to do to get into your good graces?”  
“Who wants to know?” Waverly tried her best to hide her blush.  
“Let’s just say a charming stranger.”  
“Well. This stranger would have to get to know me better than some girl she just met on the street.” Waverly frowned a bit. This felt a little fast. Faster than helping someone pick up fallen supplies.  
“Oh, she’d like to. Very much.” Nicole did her best to catch up, running into a flower cart.  
Maybe she wasn’t as put together as Waverly thought. That was scarier than Nicole’s smile. Extremely so.  
“Oh my…” She gasped, quickening her pace. “I’m not sure I want to meet this stranger. She may have no idea how to treat a girl.”  
“Well, like a princess I’d suppose.” Nicole shrugged, disheartened, jogging to catch up.  
Waverly stopped to look at her in disapproval. “No. Like a person with kindness and respect.”  
Nicole grinned at that. Not at all like the ones before. A real grin. “You’re not like most girls, are you?”  
“What do you mean?”  
At that, Nicole frowned. Waverly already missed her grin. “N-nothing. I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”  
The market was moving around them. Waverly had all but forgotten it. Children were scurrying to the candy shops for the hourly puppet show. Parents used this time to view some of the more expensive buys. Handsome suitors were buying flowers for potential future brides. Champ was in town square being pelted with tomatoes for peeking under ladies’ dresses, as per usual. Everything moving but her.  
“It’s okay.” She shrugged, grabbing the top of a box before it fell over. “It’s just that I’ve lived a pretty sheltered life.”  
“Me too.” Nicole’s eyes brightened, something to connect to. “Every day’s the same routine- “  
“-Until you just want to run away- “  
“-And never come back!”  
Who knew that the same longing for freedom and companionship could connect two strangers on the street? Especially a stranger so different than the people Waverly was raised around. Nicole definitely had to have a more regal upbringing. One more thing to be self-conscious about.  
“I thought I told you never to talk to strangers!” A drunken Wynonna and an annoyed Willa stood outside of Shorty’s saloon, glaring her down. “Unless they have money for whiskey!”  
“Yes, Wynonna.” Waverly ducked to hide her embarrassment, making her way over to join her sisters.   
“She’s probably engaging in that new dyke phase that’s going around.” Willa crossed her arms.  
“Dick phase?” Wynonna hiccupped.  
“In her dreams…if even then.” Willa rolled her eyes. “Come on, Cinderella. Gus is ready to go home.  
Waverly wanted to apologize for her sisters but was too embarrassed to try. She just offered a nod of her head in hopes she was understood. It’s not like she would know what that looked like anyway.  
“I’ll be seeing you around,” Nicole smiled at her as they began to walk away, “Waverly.”  
She blushed at the use of her name. If her sisters caught on, they didn’t let it show. Waverly took assurance in that. This was probably the one time being ignored was a good thing. Her mouth still had her foot in it, so she just nodded once more, this time, more vigorously.  
“I mean it.” Nicole winked before she finally walked away. If that could be called walking away.  
And, maybe, just maybe, her routine would begin to change. Now, she had something to hope for. Maybe even to look forward to. Because she knew where nearly every single member of Purgatory was going to be tonight. She just had to be there too. She had to figure this out, the dismantlement. Something was waiting out there. Someone was waiting. In the form of a red French braid she hoped. Something was there, right there, with her. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t quit trying to find it.  
Somewhere for me. All for me.


	2. Chapter 2

It was always baffling how the family dynamic worked here. Gus took the role of head of house but used their father’s money to cover the finances after Uncle Curtis tragically died of a heart attack. Uncle Curtis was the only one who treated Waverly fairly. If he needed her to do anything, he asked first. He taught her how to tend the garden, and he paid for her schooling when Gus refused. It was hard on all of Purgatory when he died. There was a plaque in Shorty’s bar in Curtis’ memory: Curtis McCready- Drinker of the Year. Every Year. It was placed right next to the Drink Where Wyatt Earp Drank plaque. An honor.  
After their father died protecting the homestead from a gang of robbers, Gus and Curtis took over. She wishes she could say it was for the better. Willa grew even more entitled and self-righteous as the years went on, and Wynonna learned her alcoholic limitations much too early and pushed them. No one blamed her for seeking solace after what happened. She blames herself, always did. When their father was being swarmed by those low lives, Wynonna picked up his Colt .45- otherwise known as Daddy’s peacemaker- to aid him.   
If only her aim was as strong as her little arms tried to be, maybe she would’ve hit the right guy; but, unfortunately, she put Ward Earp down with the family legacy before he could make his peace. She holds on to Peacemaker and a drink as her punishment. Sometimes, when she’s drunk enough, she claims she can see the souls Peacemaker had taken coming for her, trying to kill her. The only way to rid herself is to send them back to hell with the same gun that put them down. Waverly always removes the bullets before her sister can hurt herself or someone else.  
Maybe it was better. Gus and her sisters were horrid, lazy, and lacked a true grasp of responsibility, but at least they weren’t always physical like Ward was. She was so young then, but she could remember the punishments. Wynonna said it best in some of her drunken rants: ‘It’s going to hurt you more than it hurts me’. He was never wrong. But physical scars you can heal from. It’s the emotional ones that linger. His hating words toward her. His looks. Willa’s taunting. And, finally, in an angry banter of Gus’s, the revelation that the man their mother had left for after she could no longer take the abuse was Waverly’s real father. If only she had thought to take her too. If only she had wanted her too.  
Curtis had tried to keep Gus from saying it, but it wasn’t much he could’ve done. Another reason to miss Curtis. He really tried to make her feel loved when no one else would and her sister couldn’t. He showed it more with his gardening, the tender love and care he placed in it. Gus said the only thing he loved more than her was his tomatoes, so that’s where she buried him. The only thing he loved more than his tomatoes was tending them with Waverly.  
“Are you going to stand there all day, or do you plan on being useful for once?”   
Waverly blinked gently, realizing she was absently standing on the front porch with the broom resting in her hands. She sighed, continuing to sweep the dust off the porch so her sisters would have clean bottoms on their shoes for the ball tonight.  
“She’s probably daydreaming about that ginger butch chick from the market again.” Willa pushed past Waverly and back inside the house.  
Wynonna took a swig from her bottle and gave Waverly a drunken smile, eyes glossy and bright. “Hey, any way you swing it is a good time. Just don’t aim for the eyes. The eyes always get you.”  
Waverly appreciated moments like these with Wynonna. She had a neutral part in Waverly’s upbringing- mainly because she was too busy punishing herself for the accident; but she never failed to teach Waverly something. Not always things worth learning, but the effort was visible.  
When the porch was clean, Waverly found Gus sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and took the opportunity to be bold.  
“Uh, Gus, about the ball tonight…I was wondering if I could- “  
“Help your sisters and I into our fishnet dungarees? Of course.” Gus took a sip and winced before pouring some of Shorty’s finest into her cup.  
“I’m not sure that- “  
“Listen, Cinderella, because I’m only going to say this once. This ball isn’t for you. This ball is for eligible bachelorettes to take the princess’s hand in marriage. It is for potential on the throne. For royalty! As close as we have to that is your sisters.” Wynonna crashed onto the floor, missing the couch by probably nothing. “Okay. A flash of Mother Nature’s rack could keep that train wreck hidden.”  
“Aunt Gus, please! I can finish helping Wynonna and Willa with time to get myself presentable. It won’t take long. I promise.”  
“And leave me alone to shave my upper lip all on my own? So much for family.” Her aunt feigned sorrow. “You will help your sisters and that’s that. Princess Nicole is looking for a bride, not a new maid in waiting. You’re much better off sticking to what you do best. Nothing.”  
She rose to her feet, taking the remaining contents to her lips. “Now, why don’t you go draw a bath for Wynonna. Sober her up a little. We only have so much time.”  
“Yes, Aunt Gus…”  
*Nicole’s POV*  
“If it weren’t for this ball tonight, you would be kept to your room for the remainder of the day. How many times do we have to tell you about running away?” Queen Eliza fumed as only a queen could, in peacefully dangerous verbality, while her husband sat with his elbows resting on his knees as he waited for his queen to find calm. “What were you thinking, Nicole?”  
The princess was sitting atop one of the tables, rolling a grape between her fingers with a bored expression. She had by now exchanged her comfortable commoner get up for the colors of the palace: a dark purplish-blue. Her blouse a soft white tucked into black slacks with the kingdom colors on her tux jacket. Not an uncomfortable pairing, just an uncomfortable position. Always the same routines, rarely a new day. Yet, everyone on the outside would trade their finest wares for take her place. And she would let them. At least they had someone out there to which they share their lives. There was someone out there to which she could share her life. Someone with gorgeous brown hair, a brilliant smile, and bright eyes.  
“Xavier, correct your posture!” Eliza chastised her husband, quickly giving her attention back to the princess. “Answer me, Princess!”  
Nicole sighed, placing the grape onto the table, annoyed when a servant scurried to dispose of it. A single grape.  
“I was thinking that this ball was punishment enough and there was nothing worse you could possibly do.” She stood to her feet and face the queen. “This ball is not for me to find love; it is for the King and Queen to have the next royals take the throne. To lead the Kingdom. To give you grandchildren!”  
“And just what is wrong with that?” Eliza took a seat next to her king.  
“YOU’RE NOT MY PARENTS!” Nicole wanted to flip the table in frustration. “You are my brother’s wife, raising me from that of a child after the immediate death of our parents after my birth! Pretending- lying- to this kingdom about my parentage! You- dear Queen- are not my mother!”  
“Nicole!” King Xavier finally stepped in, upset at his wife’s saddening expression. It quickly gave calm to the princess. He never called her Nicole unless he was angry with her. It was always Haught. “I understand your anger, but you’d do well to consider your words.”  
She felt bad, making way to Eliza, and taking her hand. “I didn’t mean it in that way. You were a wonderful mother to me. Always you have treated me well and accepted me fully regardless of onlookers. But this ball…I do not wish to attend. I want to find love in my own way.”  
“May I make a suggestion?” Nicole’s most trusted advisor, Randy Nedley, spoke up as he approached the royal family.  
“NO!” A unanimous vote.  
“Yeah, well,” He shrugged, ignoring their exclamations, “Let’s say- seeing as this shindig is already nipple deep in preparation- that the Princess does go to the ball.”  
“Traitor!” Nicole accused, rushing toward him, pressing an accusing finger against his chest.  
“I’m liking this idea.” Queen Eliza nodded thoughtfully.  
“If she just so happens to find a suitor, then isn’t that the bee’s knees,” Nedley drawled on, giving Nicole a gesture to wait. “But if she does not…”  
And was Nedley as brilliant as she thought. His mustache twitched slightly upward as they were finally on the same page. She’d kiss that ‘stache if it weren’t glistening with chicken grease.   
“Alright, Eliza, I’ll go to the ball tonight. I’ll dance, laugh, all that I am expected.” Nicole promised, looking from her brother to his wife, to Nedley, and back again. “But, if it shall fail, you let me find someone in my own way- “  
“But- “  
“With no interruptions- “  
“But I- “  
“No matter how long it takes.”  
Nicole may as well have told Eliza that she would rather loc herself in the tallest tower of the castle than attend this farce of a ball by the horrific look in her eyes. It was one for the books.  
“Well, I,” Eliza rang her hands, though it looked more as if she were applying the royal lotion, as not to draw attention to her own anger. “If that’s what you really want…”  
“It is very much what I want.” Nicole deadpanned, standing firm, chest out and firm.  
“Then it is settled!” Xavier rose from his throne, giving his little sister a dangerous grin. “First one to the kitchen gets the good chocolate pudding.”  
“You’re on!” Nicole challenged; knees bent in ready.  
“No running in the castle, you two!” Eliza scolded, rubbing her temple. She never could get a break with these two. It was either running down the halls with their mantles billowing in the breeze, sliding around in their stockings on the wet floor, or taking the wheels from the mini carts and applying them to their worn shoes to whisk around the castle at whim. Never the royal make.  
“Sire, potential breech on the north wall!” Xavier’s advisor, Jeremy, came racing forward, nearly tripping on his coattails.   
“Can it wait until after pudding?” Xavier removed his mantle, hanging it on the back of his throne.  
“Xavier, you go see about this!” Eliza swat his arm in frustration.  
“Pudding!”  
“Go!” She rolled her eyes, placing her hands on his chest. “You know how much you enjoy leading the charge. Just don’t get too excited. You tend to overheat.”  
“I do not overheat.” The king placed his crown on the cushion of his chair.  
“I don’t know.” Nicole shrugged. “I’ve seen you smoke out of the ears once or twice.”  
Grunting, the king followed Jeremy down a corridor, promising a battle with his sister for pudding once he returned. If only he was smart enough to remember it would be gone before he was halfway there. If only Nicole was smart enough to realize he had run off towards the kitchen and would not get the chance to get a taste if he were not so kind.  
Eliza shook her head to herself. “The things I put up with as queen.”  
“Yes, you have such a hard life, dear Eliza.” Nicole scoffed, backing away in earnest. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a dress to be forced into.”  
Eliza watched as Nicole dragged herself up the stairs into the arms of several awaiting servants. Nedley climbed a ladder to finish the placement of a royal banner.  
“Do not worry, your highness. She will find a suitor tonight. I can feel it in my bones!” Nedley spoke through a mouthful of cheese cubes.  
“You’ll feel it in your bones if she doesn’t.” Eliza threatened, smacking the ladder so hard that it sent poor Nedley tumbling down to the floor.  
Coughing in pain, he rolled over and reached up for a chalice of wine, humming in content at its full content. Queen Eliza threw up her hands in exasperation, going to meet her own servants for preparation for the ball.  
A queen’s work was never done.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been quite some time since updates have been made. I am trying so hard to keep things coming for you all but some personal factors are taking surface, so it's gotten harder to keep a steady schedule. I do apologize for that. Just know, Negovanstein is not going anywhere. We are still here. Please share our stories, comment, go to our merch store and see if there's anything you'd like there. I,Ana, has a twitter @IWantASandwich, feel free to contact me there. I'd love to interact with you! We love you all! Enjoy the chapter!

Nedley gruffed as he adjusted his pants for the twelfth time today. One of the things he loves most about his position as Princess Nicole’s most trusted advisor and head of protection is his pants. They felt like he was walking around in his winter long johns; except when the maids forget to remove them from the clothesline on windy days. Now they feel like porcupines vacationed in his trousers and decided to reproduce, and their babies left remnants of their birth as a mark of territory.

One of the things Nedley loves about his position is his pants. One of the things Nedley hates about his job—aside from being instructed to go into town for the Queen’s shopping—is his pants after hours of billowing breeze. Today he had both.

Queen Eliza decided he is the best person to send into town with a roll of parchment stuffed with enough instructions to reconstruct the kingdom, which is probably her goal, if Nedley was honest. So here he is, approaching the merchant with his tree trunk of scroll and a prickling wedgie reforming his caboose. At least he’s allowed to use the royal carriage. Being a royal advisor and protector has its perks. Free use of private transportation. Nice digs for sleeping. Free food. More importantly, copious amounts of free hooch.

‘“Alright, Sir, I’ve got quite the list for ya. Do you think you can round up your fellow shop owners? A request from the Queen—”

Before he could finish his greeting, the merchant screamed for all his fellow workers to gather around for the Queen’s message. In a matter of seconds, Nedley and the royal coach is surrounded by Purgatory’s finest. With a befuddled grunt, he opened his scroll.

_“Her Royal Highness, Nicole Alexander Regina Winifred Jane Constantina Bernadette Francis Eve Lillian Macy—” He remembered Queen Eliza giving him his orders as the royal scroll taker took scroll._

_“Macy?” He frowned, trying to remember if he ever really knew Princess Nicole’s full name before then. Must be the hooch._

_“Macy.” The Queen nodded, continuing without falter. “Ophelia Haught—she’ll thank us for it later—is giving a ball.”’_

Why she decided to read it to him after he sat there while the scroll was written—and when he is well-versed—is a curiosity, but not as much as the length of this request. Now he has to read it to everyone else.

“Her Royal Highness Nicole Alexander Haught, Princess to Queen Eliza Ermantrude Charlotte Guinevere Helena—”

“Helena?” A woman that looks more like a bartender’s wife than a shop owner queried from the crowd. Her eyes are nice though. Hard. She’s been through some things. She just needs some more hooch.

“Helena—Margarita is giving a ball.” He trudged on, wishing for a soak in hot water to soothe his itching backside. “The Queen requests some fois de soir with frills, a silky sateen in aubergine, a red if someone spills.”

The town seamstress scurries off with her frill of women to her shop to begin, very excited to please her queen. Nedley began a gentle stroll with the moving herd of workers, the butcher at his side.

“A surfeit of meat, a side of ham, and lots of beef filets. Some marbled steaks, a rack of lamb, and veal you raise to braise.” He taps the butcher’s shoulder and whispers, “If you could throw in a couple extra pieces of ham for the royal advisor…”

The butcher laughed, repeated his orders, and ducked away. The baker and grocer took his place.

“Limburger, swiss in gourmandise, cheddar, gruyere, and blue. Chunks of swiss in barrels please; make sure that’s holey too. King Xavier likes the shape.” The grocer nearly tripped on his overly lengthy apron as he ran off for his shop once again. Nedley addressed the baker next, who is vibrating with nervousness and excitement. “Puddings and pies and rum souffles, succulent chocolate rounds. Cream puffs they can chew away to gain some royal pounds. The Queen is intrigued in a thicker waistline. Apparently it is all the rage these days.”

Everyone evaporated to spread the news of tonight’s events, leaving Nedley alone to sit among the royal horses and review the message before his return to the castle. After repeating it so much, the words look scrambled. He blames his britches. Today, everything is the britches. Nothing good can come from these god-forsaken pieces of scratchy fabric.

_Her Royal Highness—200 orchids, 400 poppies, 600 roses, 800 lillies—Nicole Alexander—1,000 oranges, 2,000 plums—Regina Winifred Jane Constantina—Raspberry, blueberry, strawberry, gooseberry—Bernadette Francis Eve Lillian—Princess to Queen Eliza—Chocolate, cheddar, and Charlotte Helena—Princess of his Caviar, King Xavier Alfred Leopold Ladislaw Sydney—_

_._

_Sydney?_

_._

_._

_…Sydney! Well, I’ll be a horse’s left ball sack._

He places the scroll next to his perch on the carriage, ushering to the coachman to return to the castle. He can’t wait to burn this parchment and strip down to his socks for a well deserved bath.

“I need a drink.” He sighs, quickly reforming the instructions to the coachman to take him to Shorty’s Bar instead.

.

.

.

Waverly spent the next hour on her knees scrubbing vomit off the bathroom floor. Wynonna had released her stomach’s contents twice in rapid succession, a result of alcohol poisoning. Gus instructed her to help get Wynonna to the barn—so none of her new sick waves smelled up her house—and clean up the mess. She also left Waverly in charge of watching Wynonna while she took Willa to the ball. Apparently Willa is no longer interested in pretending to be in love with the Princess after meeting a supposed wealthy man at the market by the name of Robert Svane; a meeting she chose not to mention until now because it seemed to slip her mind. All in all, this meant Waverly has no chance of attending the ball now.

She juggles getting blankets, juice, and soup for Wynonna, who is handcuffed by Gus so she can’t sneak into the kitchen for more whiskey, to helping Willa updo her hair and helping Gus into her undergarments. Lucky for her, Wynonna passes out in the barn rather quickly; so she doesn’t have to race back and forth between the barn and the house. Unlucky for her, she has to listen to Willa’s constant chatter about the mysterious Bobo and her disgust of Waverly’s ‘sexual preferences’.

“While you’re busy imagining yourself underneath what I hope are blood-soaked petticoats, I will be drinking my red wine in silver glasses.” Willa’s shoulders are firm as Waverly put the finishing touches on her hair. “You know, he looked at you first, dear sister; before he realized you were a peasant of course. Once I mentioned that you are a carpet-munching dyke, that sealed the deal for him. If you had yourself together, maybe you’d find yourself a decent man with money like your big sister.”

“Thank you, Willa. That is good advice.” Waverly plasters a smile on her face until she’s in the hallway and down the stairs grabbing Gus and Willa’s coats. Their stagecoach arrived just in time. Just a few more minutes and she’ll no longer have to hold herself together under false pretenses.

“Remember the rules, girl. No one on the homestead that doesn’t pay rent. Shotgun shells are in the spice drawer if any of the rowdy locals come by. And—”

“And no drinking your whiskey.” Waverly nodded as she dropped the fabric over Gus’s green, near-revealing dress.

“And this house better be spotless when I get back.” Gus pushes Willa forward as she appears at the doorway. “If I so happen to bring a man home tonight, that is my business and mine alone. Got me?”

The door slams shut before Waverly could answer. It was just her and the creaky old house.

“AHHHHHHH!”

And Wynonna. She almost forgot. She left Wynonna on the barn floor handcuffed to a post in the empty horse stables. She’s nice enough to put hay and blankets down for comfort. There’s even a bucket for her to heave into. What else could she want?

More whiskey. Of course. Waverly tries to tell her she doesn’t need anymore, but lucky for her, Wynonna remembers the flask she hid in her bra. Nothing better than whiskey warmed by a beating heart and boob sweat.

“Ay! Why aren’t you at the—the—fancy dance at the castle? Did you not want in the Princess’s royal lady bits?”

Waverly winces at her sister’s bluntness. That’s the last thing she wants. She doesn’t even know this girl.

“I do not want into anyone’s lady bits, thank you very much. I’m not going because I need to keep an eye on you. So, no more whiskey for you. It’s time to sleep this off.” She snatches the flask from her sister’s hand, tucking it into her apron.

“What? Don’t punish me because you can’t go play Damsel in Distress at the castle!” Wynonna shrieked.

“It’s for your own good.” Waverly threw a blanket on Wynonna’s legs. “Suck it up.”

“You have made an enemy this Tuesday.” Wynonna huffed, blowing hair from her face.

“It’s Friday.” Waverly rolled her eyes, standing to make her exit.

“Good to know.” She hears her sister mumble as she passes through the barn doors. “You’re a good sister. You don’t forget the water like Willa…the witch.”

Waverly almost gets her hopes up that something genuine is actually coming out of her sister’s mouth; but no. Leave it to her family to her that the only thing she’ll ever be good at is scrubbing the floors and making brownies.

“Pardon me, miss, but it looks like you’re in need of assistance.”

Waverly had to stare for a moment to be sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

He has his hat bent forward covering his face, only his mustache visible beneath it. He has a blue, collared button shirt and jeans he was enjoying all too well, cowboy boots on his feet, and two guns holstered at his sides. It’s not a hallucination, and she isn’t delusional—despite what Willa might think.

“Doc Holliday.” She gasped; more like scoffed because what else could ruin her evening than a big, strong man leaning against her barn ready to fix her small damsel problems.

“At your service. Here to make your pretty, pretty dreams come true.” The hat moves from its bridged state to reveal piercing blue eyes as a cigarette is placed beneath the bristles of his mustache.

“I’d quicker believe the great Wyatt Earp is waiting in my bathroom to ring out your long johns.” Waverly crosses her arms tightly over her chest. There are always several times out of the year that cosplayers come onto the property to stand in Earp territory. It’s been a long time since a Doc Holliday mimic has done the same.

“He does know how to handle my delicates…” The nerve of this guy. He actually has the audacity to look hopeful. What is with these impersonators? They’re so method.

With an agitated scoff, Waverly storms back into the house, upstairs straight to her room. Between her aunt, her sister, and her servitude, the last thing she feels like dealing with is one of the locals…a local who is now in her room. Just like the barn, he is leaning against her window waiting for her.

“I dare say this—and pardon my blatant honesty—but you are not well graced in the fine art of hospitality, are you; or is that just my southern expectations?” His mustache twitches with either humor or disappointment. “Wyatt would not be pleased.”

Waverly pulls a broom from the corner, ready to defend herself despite the fear settling in her chest. “Either leave this property or deal with the police. It only takes one call.”

“Oh, my. Did Purgatory finally get cellular service? I’ve been told those little pocket phone doohickies are all the rage nowadays; except in Purgatory where you’ll quicker catch a call with the chord of your mama’s house phone danglin’ over the porch side while you stand on a horse’s ass.” A puff of smoke settled in the air as he pulls from his cigarette.

“Now, are you gonna let me prove to you with some sense that I am in fact _the_ John Henry Holliday; or shall I take a risk with one of these pistols of blowin’ through the oh-so sweet heart of my best friend’s great great great granddaughter, Waverly Earp?”

“And if I say no?”

“I’m not askin’.” And now Waverly’s staring down the business end of a waiting pistol. A Thunderer 3 ½ inch Colt .42. Whoever this guy is, he did his homework.

Slowly, she takes a seat on the bed, eyes trained on his finger near the trigger. “Nice gun.”

His smirk was the window she asked for. AS he smiles, his hand tilts, and Waverly takes advantage by the balls and swipes his gun toting arm with the broom and leaps for the door. She never even touches the doorknob before a shot goes off, blasting a hole just above her hovering hand.

“Son of a biscuit eater!” She gasped, jumping back onto her bed.

“An Earp taking a risk. How shocking.” He holsters his weapon, grabbing the one he lost from the broom off the floor. “Looks like I know which one has the bullets. I mean look at this damn thing! Got me walkin’ around here like a gunslingin’ tooth fairy!”

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?”

“DOC HOLLIDAY.” His explosion makes Waverly press her back against the cold wood of the headboard. With a sigh, he stomps his cigarette out with his boot. “You can just call me your Fairy Gunslinger.”

She wants to laugh. She has to laugh. The hole in her door makes that pretty hard to do. Not only does she have a Doc Holliday impersonator inside her house, but she also has a Doc Holliday impersonator who needs serious medical attention, and she can’t call the police.

“Would you like proof?” He asks, twirling the gun around in his fingers.

Waverly watches as the wrong end constantly twirls in her direction. “I’m assuming I don’t have a choice.”

“No, not really.” The gun isn’t twirling anymore. It’s aiming right at her head. His eyes are barely fixed on hers, like she isn’t worth the bullet he’s about to dislodge; like she isn’t human.

Well, she is human. Her name is Waverly Cinderella Earp. She’s 23 years old. She’s a housekeep to her family, unpaid of course. Her favorite color is golden rod. She’s read every book in the Purgatory library’ history section. She likes to eat the chocolate off her candies and give the nuts to squirrels. Her ex-boyfriend sucked at kissing; she has no idea what a real kiss feels like. She hasn’t done anything yet! Her name is Waverly Earp and she’s going to die before she’s even had a chance to live!

The shot rang out and Waverly prepares to greet her father in the great beyond. The great beyond is silent. She expected bells and a chorus of angels while a great big poodle greets her at the pearly gates. All Dogs Go to Heaven really did lie to the viewers.

“Well, look at it.” He drawls.

She’s alive. He didn’t kill her. He missed? If he’s really Doc Holliday, he can’t miss. She opens her eyes and she’s still in her room, the gun still in mustache man’s hand. It’s twirling again.

There is a new weight on her head, she notices. She pulls at it, nearly freezing at the cold new accessory before pulling it off. It’s a tiara, gold and simple. Elegant. Her name is engraved on it.

“How the—”

“Doc Holliday, fastest gunslinger that ever lived.” With a grin, he holds out his hand. “I probably should’ve done that in the beginning of all the pleasantries…”

She isn’t sure what shocks her more: the actual, supposedly hundreds of years dead Doc Holliday standing in her bedroom or the fact that he shot this beautiful tiara on her head. It really shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise considering she lives in Purgatory after all. And now that she thought about it, there were some uncertainties concerning his death in a book she’d borrowed from the library.

She should probably find it.

“Can we please get a move on? You are running low on time! Do ya wish to go to the shindig or don’t ya?” He twirls his gun again in frustration. “Better yet, I’ll be much obliged to assist you more since it seems your competence is a tad rattled by my presence still.”

Waverly blinks as the shot fires, and she is once again in the yard of the Homestead. There is another audible ‘pop’ and before her stands a white carriage and three beautiful black beauties with the most vibrant flowing manes she ever saw.

“I knew those field mice would come in handy.” Doc chortles, pulling Waverly behind him with a prideful strut.

His pistol trained on the horses, he lets shots go in mere seconds of each other. With each shot came a new addition to the ensemble he’s conjured. Now the horses had elegant braids in their manes, shiny jewels on their faces, and were now hitched to the carriage with an accompanying coach and footwoman waiting idly in their seats. It’s a beautiful sight, something right out of a childhood fairytale. Except this isn’t some old story. She can reach out and touch this. It isn’t out of her grasp like everything felt. Not anymore.

“Now, let’s see here…You got yourself a couple steeds, some fine gentlewomen to look after ya, a carriage for style. Not a bad mode of transport if I do say so myself. And I do.” Doc Holliday tipped his hat with pride. “Is there anything amiss?”

The carriage and horses are beautiful, the women leading them are a very nice touch, but if Waverly goes to the ball dressed like a scullery maid, she may as well chop off her own head in embarrassment. This would never do, but she doesn’t have much in her closet for an occasion such as this. There is a nice red ensemble she’d planned to wear if Gus had let her go, but it is meant more for a date as the bar than a night of elegance. She hasn’t thought it through. She couldn’t go like this.

“Well, darn it, spin around, Waverly! Don’t make me do all the work!” Doc uses his gun like a wand again, imitating a twirl.

She follows his instructions, watching what looks like stars swirling around her as a beautiful gown formed around her. Once her twirl was over, the rags were gone and a gorgeous orchid purple off-the-shoulder floor-length dress; and on her feet were a pair of crystal clear glass slippers. She swears if she twists her foot towards a light source, the shoe will sparkle.

“Well then, Miss Waverly—” Doc placed the tiara he’d first created on her head. “—I believe your chariot awaits.”

This is like a dream. Things like this don’t happen to Waverly every day. Not even in Purgatory where things are known to happen unexpectedly could she ever dream this up. She’s going to the ball. She’s going to find that girl from the market. She’s going to be in the presence of others without feeling less than. Things are falling in place for Miss Waverly Cinderella Earp. She wouldn’t even mind the use of her middle name in this moment. As she let the coach help her into the comfortable plush seats of the carriage, she almost felt more unique as her name as ever before.

“Now, Waverly, there is one tiny detail. I must mention it before you depart.” Doc leaned in with a serious expression. “Once the hands of the clock strike twelve, you have to leave. The magic of my pistol will be void and you will go back to life as it once was.”

“Twelve? I only have three hours?” She frowned, trying to push back her disappointing tears. Things began to come crashing down.

“I don’t make the rules, Waverly. I am sorry. But if you are not out of there by the time the clock strikes twelve, your secret will unveil itself in the most unwanted of natures. I assure you, you do not want to see what happens if it does.” He tips his hat again, more apologetic than not. It’s so strange how that one motion can convey so many expressions. “Go on, now. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it. I will watch after Wynonna.”

“You know about Wynonna?” Waverly calls through the open window as the carriage began to depart.

“I know all, Waverly. I know all.” Doc mutters under his breath, waving as she drifts away.

“This will be a most interesting night.”


End file.
